


Dead Eyes and Purple Shirts

by Damnitremy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Gen, Happy Ending, I hope you like it, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Marvel Universe, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Sad, Sexual Abuse, i wrote this all at one, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damnitremy/pseuds/Damnitremy
Summary: I remembered all of those moments when I smashed the mason jar on the blue and white bathroom tiles. And when I took one of the big shards in my hand, feeling the cold on my fingers. And when I looked in the mirror and all I saw were my own dead eyes staring back at me.------Or where Skye is nine and believes she is at the end but it is only the beginning.(she's a foster kid and finds family in Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.)





	Dead Eyes and Purple Shirts

**Author's Note:**

> This is about Skye or Daisy Johnson. Not a one-shot. I love Clintasha but I'm pretty sure this'll be gen.

When I was nine I tried to kill myself. 

I was watching my foster parents' biological daughter. She was maybe four or five. I didn't ever care to learn, I'd leave them before it ever even mattered. Or, more likely, they would leave me. Just like everybody I'd ever loved. 

When I was younger, I always thought that my parents were looking for me. That they wanted me as much as I wanted them. And that they didn't mean to leave me on the steps of a destitute, overflowing, little orphanage. But that rusty, old building was stuffed with unwanted people just like me. That place was where I grew up every once in a while. When I wasn't at another home, with either good people who just didn't understand what they were getting themselves into or with terrible, greedy human-beings who only got me for a paycheck or a punching bag or free labor or sexual pleasure or everything and anything in between. 

I was almost nine when I stopped wasting time on fantasies where I'd have a real mom who would always tuck me in or dad who would root for me during my second-grade spelling bee. There were reasons on top of reasons for me to do stop feeling the little hope I had, but what tipped my carefully constructed tower of hope was another horrible monster slipping his hand under my bright blue underwear. And another man who ignored my screams and cries for him to please stop, just please stop!

I remembered all of those moments when I smashed the mason jar on the blue and white bathroom tiles. And when I took one of the big shards in my hand, feeling the cold on my fingers. And when I looked in the mirror and all I saw were my own dead eyes staring back at me.

It hurt as much as it always did, which probably shouldn't have surprised me. But when I watched as the glass cut away at my bloody arm, I couldn't stop myself from wondering why. I thought maybe since I was doing to myself it wouldn't hurt as much, cause at least I was in control. And I thought maybe that I could hurt myself so badly that no one else could ever hurt me as much. That ever tear at my soul and every attack on my body wouldn't work because I would already be broken.

What I never thought, and what I never knew was that when you're broken you can be repaired. Maybe not all the way but enough to feel that emotion long lost, gone with the hope I almost had. Happiness. 

I also didn't know that the little girl in pigtails and a bow would find me, dazed but alive. Bleeding but with a beating heart. I didn't know that she would scream and run outside and run into the boy who would save my life. I never would have believed that a twelve-year-old in a bright purple shirt would call 9-1-1 and rush with my broken body to the hospital. And all I would see during all of that was red: my own blood, blue: the bow on the girl with the pigtails and purple: for the boy who would change my life forever.  
\---------------------------------------------

When I woke I woke up in the hospital I saw a blur of nothing for a moment. Then blobs of dull colors. I couldn't feel any pain but I was painfully aware of where I was. And what I seemed to be. Alive. 

The next time I woke up my head was to the side, and a familiar color graced my eyes. I didn't expect there to be two complete strangers sitting in black, uncozy looking chairs by my bedside. Figure number one looked to be about twelve, he had sandy hair and blood on his bright, purple shirt. He appeared to be sleeping on figure number two's lap. The girl didn't seem to mind. She was maybe the same age, with the most beautiful, vibrant red hair cascading down to her shoulders. Her shirt was black and long-sleeved during the summer and there was a hole on her the arm. I didn't think she came from much either.

"Hi. You're awake," her voice was smooth and soothing.

I furrowed my eyebrow just a little bit. 

"I am Natasha. This is my best friend Clint," she gestured to gently to the snoring boy, "He found you and he wanted someone to be there for you when you awoke. You have been sleeping for seventeen hours. I am glad to see you awake."

I coughed a little and tried for a thank you. It didn't sound the best, so I cleared my throat a little more. "Skye. I am Skye."

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, it's not a one-shot. I hope you like it. Please kudos and if you have any requests or suggestions PLEASE comment down below. I always love to hear y'all's thoughts.


End file.
